The Tears that soothe the Burns
by hightoppsmadness
Summary: AU. During the Games, Katniss is killed, and Peeta wins through the advice she had given him over time. On the way home, they take the victor of the last games with them for the Quarter Quell, Dorsil of District 4. Together they mourn for their lost partners and try to heal each other the best they can.
1. Fateful aim

The Tears that soothe the Burns

A HightoppsMadness Fanfiction

Author's Note: I am a huge fan of the Katniss/Peeta pairing, but I think sometimes 'What if Katniss hadn't made it out of the first Games? Would Peeta have moved on, or would he have sacrificed himself in a fit of suicidal rage?' I always come up with a 'moved on with serious mental scars and a lack of his usual charming self' answer. After all, dying after Katniss dies wouldn't avenge her, nor would it soothe the torture in his soul. Which leads me to believe that he would eventually find love elsewhere, though it wouldn't be as strong.

The character Dorsil is actually someone I made for my original novel 'Seabirds', but I'm testing out her personality here. If she would be from anywhere, I would say she was from District 4, but I'm not about to touch the Finnick/Annie pairing. It's too perfect and tragic. So I give you this. Don't count on rapid updates, as I'm trying to write three original novels as well as all the other Fanfics. You guys get really impatient, and this computer's a piece of crap.

(^^^^^)

I'm scared. I told her not to leave, and she drugged me. I'm also angry for this reason, but I can't make it outweigh my fear. I fear that she won't come back, that the careers had gotten to her before she made it out of the feast. The wound on my leg hurts, and I press my hand to it. The heat radiating off of it isn't reassuring. Panic starts to inject adrenaline into my system, and I try to swallow the saliva gathering just behind my teeth. My throat is so dry, I can't do it. It feels like sandpaper.

The soup next to me has gone cold. I don't care. I won't eat it unless she's here to share it with. Katniss. I've lived my whole life to protect her, and the one time I screw up bad enough to sit out, she goes and flings herself into danger. I sigh. Perhaps I should try to leave, catch up to her?

I fall down instantly, my injury preventing any leave. I curse loudly. The adrenaline shoots through my system again, and fresh blood seeps from the gash. I take a deep breath and try to recall my basic facts.

'I am Peeta Mellark. I am a baker's youngest son. My mother is a bitter woman who hates the woman I love. I love Katniss Everdeen. We entered the Hunger Games together. She knows how I feel about her. She fakes her feelings towards me for my sake. I roll with it to ease her conscience.' I breathe in and sigh heavily. 'I am injured, and she is getting the medicine that will save me.'

A sound comes from nearby, and I grab the knife she left me. At least she thought about my safety here. Katniss enters the cave, and I relax. She is safe, and I will be well enough to help her soon. She has a cut above her left eyebrow, as well as a small cut tracing her upper lip.

She explains to me the situation between her, Clove, and Thresh. I will be forever grateful to that man. She rubs the ointment into my cut, and I dab a bit over her cuts. My leg is already taking on a better look. Optimism is palpable, and I kiss her. It is the kind of kiss I always wanted to have with her. It is passionate, needy, and filled with emotion.

Then the sword pierces her neck, and she falls to the ground, dead before she hit the floor.


	2. Horror unmatched

(^^^^^)

I've never been a violent person. I've never been in a fight. My wrestling style in District 12 is very effective without injuring the other person. But as I see Katniss' eyes deaden, with Cato's sword skewering her neck, her life blood coating the floor of our cave, my legs, my hands as I try to keep her with me, I feel violent.

"Katniss," I weep. "Katniss, I'll send him to Hell. I'll do it for you. I won't let you die for no reason."

Her lips turn upward for just a moment. A rational person would call it a twitch in the midst of her death throes, but I take it as a sign of approval. She wants me to kill them all. I'll do it without hesitation.

The cannon goes off, and I carry her to the river, wash her off. I won't have her sent back in the pine box dirty. She'll be clean and as beautiful as the day I admitted my love for her. She was so pretty that night, even when she pushed me into that urn. She was always so pretty. But now, as her slack limbs drift with the current of the water, she seems different. Like a doll that you think is the prettiest doll in the world until the day you drop her on the sidewalk and split her porcelain face into a billion pieces. She seems unreal. Hollow. Her dead eyes stare up at me. I tried to close them, but the rigor mortis has set in.

I pick a bunch of dandelions for her, because that is all that is nearby. I put them in her hands, which I place over her abdomen. I cover the gaping hole in her neck with her hair, and I kiss her forehead.

As I leave with our supplies, I hear the note the Mockingjays sing and the hovercraft picks up her body. I almost run back, begging them to take me with her, but I remain rooted to the spot I'm standing. She wouldn't want me to be weak now. Not until the games are over and I'm by myself. I refuse to cry. It doesn't solve anything anyway.

I resolve that I will win this for her, for us. The first thing to do is to take out the ones smarter than I am. That would be the girl with the red hair, Foxface or whatever her real name is. I promise myself that I will learn what it is after the Games, whether it matters at that point or not. But first, I need to eat. Even though I don't want to, I know I have to if I'm going to survive in this hellhole.

I find berries. They look similar to ones that my father and I sometimes put in muffins, but they have a different kind of quality to them. They smell different. I gather them anyway. If I can keep all nutrient sources away from the other tributes, eventually they will have to die. I do this for at least fifteen minutes, and then I hear it. The cannon. I turn to see Foxface on the ground, the berries in her hand, purple juice dribbling from her slack mouth. They didn't even make it all the way down her throat. I drop the berries on the ground. I won't want them, and with my blatant disregard of my shaky alliance with the careers, I doubt if I will be able to convince any of them to eat them anyway. They are of no use to me.

I find small knives on her person, as well as a chunk of cheese and bread. She also has water. I take it with no guilt weighing on me. She had been stealing from Katniss and I this whole time. This is no different. Survival of the fittest. The medicine in the small bag with the number 5 on it is for regaining strength. I use some of it immediately. The bag also contains a garrote and a mesh net. I decide that it is for setting traps.

As the hovercraft gathers her carcass, I begin setting up a trap for the others by gathering leaves from under the trees in the mesh. I'll set it up with these closer to the Cornucopia.


	3. Vengence earned

(^^^^^)

As night falls, I watch the symbol of the Capitol light up the sky. Clove shows up first. I feel no pity for her. Foxface is next; apparently her name was Caryl Delfide. I don't know what to make of this, but at least I know what her name is now. Then I resist the urge to cry as Katniss' face spreads across the stars. Her hair is down, the way I like it, and her lips are in a pout. She has no faults that I can see. Her eyes scream indifference, the way they usually do. The tears slide down my face anyway, but I don't make a sound. As the symbol and anthem finally finish and disappear, something in my senses pick up something suspicious. I'm the only one making any noise in the forest. I can't hear the Mockingjays, and the leaves are not rustling. The insects are dead silent. I head for the nearest tree, one with a wide trunk and thick branches that will easily support my weight.

I recall what Katniss did when the careers and I cornered her. She climbed the tree and strapped herself to it so she wouldn't fall off. I copy her actions, with painful but successful results. I'm at least a hundred yards up, but my wound has reopened. I apply more medication after using an extra shirt from the packs. It was Rue's at some point. It's too small to belong to Katniss or Caryl. And it certainly isn't mine. It doesn't matter, as long as it's absorbent. It stains red, but the bleeding stops. I sigh, but quickly freeze as I hear something below me. It is several 'somethings' and they travel fast.

They race by my tree, and ten minutes after I am sure that they are gone, I hear Thresh scream in terror. The cannon goes off, and I am sure that it is down to me, Cato, and whatever hell spat up in the form of those 'somethings.'

Morning arrives immediately, and I know that the game makers want more action. Haven't these bloodthirsty godless bastards had enough? They've already taken my Katniss, but now they want more? I take a look at where I am. The ground is covered in what looks to be giant dogs. These are muttations. My heart races. There is no leaving the tree. If I try it, I will die. They appear to be asleep, but I am too cautious to test how heavy they sleep. Katniss always said I had a loud step. I lower myself to another branch, making sure I'm still out of their reach. I want to know what I'm up against.

They come in a range of colors and sizes. One has blonde fur and a woven collar with the number 2 on it. The smallest one has a chocolate brown coat and a curl in it's tail. The collar reads 11, and a matching one adorns the largest one, which has pitch black fur. I choke on my own thoughts. They look so very similar to the other tributes. I frantically count them up. One with the number 1, two 2s, both 3s are there, as are the ones with 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, and 11. I start to tear up, I can't breathe right, and a pained sound rips through my lips. It wakes up the only one with the number 12 sown on the hunter green collar.

Katniss' impassive brown eyes look up at me, and I feel like I'm going to die right there. She wakes the others, and they join her in gazing up at me with their human eyes. Glimmer's bright green, Rue's dark brown, Caryl's hazel fading into her red fur, Thresh's almost black, and so many others. I imagine myself as one of them. I would have blonde fur and blue eyes, with a medium build and a limp.

"Katniss?" I manage to call out to her. If she can connect with me, perhaps she is still in there somewhere. Maybe she can help me. Or she can kill me quick, so I can avoid suffering.

She growls low, threatening. It's not my Katniss. The Capitol stole her. I look upwards towards the already blue sky, anguish painted across my features.

"Is this what you sick people wanted? Are you happy?" I cry out, just as they start howling. I know they will edit this out before they show it to the masses, but it makes me feel better to voice my thoughts.

I know I have to get rid of Cato. That is all my mind says as I climb to the biggest limb going in the direction I need. I tighten the red stained shirt around my leg, and head towards the Cornucopia. If I can lead them to Cato, perhaps I won't need to kill him.

The trek is filled with pain, and I'm sweating blood and tears by the time I get there, but the mutts are still by my side, with Katniss as far away from me as possible. No, she is not Katniss. This is something different. This is the Capitol.

The Cornucopia still stands in the middle of the field, its shiny metal surface reflecting the fading sunlight. It has taken me all day to get here, and I'll be damned if I'll use another one in this cage. There is no point to setting up a trap for Cato, so I dump the leaves out of the mesh net, then start twisting it into a rope. I thank God for Katniss' insistence on using the knot tying station in training, as I tie one end to the end of the branch I am perched on. I am able to reach the roof of the structure if I use the net as a swing. I won't be able to run to the top before the mutts get me.

Cato seems to have the same sentiments, as he is already on the roof. He wearily watches the mutts that circle him. Glimmer, Caryl, the tributes of 7. The others are below me, but he doesn't see me. I am grateful for this. I strap myself to my branch and try to sleep for a couple of hours until nightfall.

I dream of Katniss in a white dress. It explodes into smoke when she twirls, and the dress looks like a Mockingjay when the smoke clears. She proclaims that it is a wonderful wedding dress, and she looks at me with an intense love.

I wake up, and realize that I am a fool for thinking that this was the dream, and the dream was reality. I look down and see her there, glaring at Cato from where she sits. Night has fallen, and I am convinced that now is as good a time as any. Cato is looking away from me, his knees curled up to his chest, rocking back and forth. It appears I am not the only one going through a mental breakdown.

I grab a tight hold of my mesh net rope, and approach my exit point. The branch creaks under my weight, but only the mutts notice. I swing over the distance and land with a bang on the Cornucopia.

Cato is already up, and I see he is wearing full body armor in a flesh color under his clothes. That makes things more difficult. I swing my largest knife, the machete, at him, and he reflexively backs up, approaching the edge. The mutts are at all sides now, frothing at the mouth to eat one of us. He tackles me, and knocks the knife out of my hand. What he doesn't see is the wire-thin garrote I kept between my hands, and he has stumbled right into it. I flip so I am behind him, and I pull. I pull as hard as I can, and I feel his warm blood splash down my back. The full body armor doesn't cover the joint between his jaw and his neck, and I am exploiting it fully. I feel his feet leave the ground, and he struggles. I tighten my grip and pull again. More blood.

I slip on it and he falls over the side. I hear his pained screams. He can't run, I've cut off his circulation to his brain for too long. It won't give the commands to his muscles. Arterial blood splashes the mutts as they tear at him. It doesn't last very long before he bleeds out of the large smile shaped cut the garrote has given him. The cannon goes off, and the mutts retreat.

I'm not sure what to do now, but I'm covered in dirt, sweat, tears, Cato's blood, my blood, and perhaps a bit of tree sap.

Seneca Cane's voice blares over the arena. "Presenting the winner of the 74th Hunger Games, Peeta Mellark of District 12!"

The hovercraft lowers a ladder to me, and I hold on for dear life as I am pulled up. They place me on a cold metal table and inject me with a clear liquid. I think it's morphling. As they try to look at my damaged leg, I drift off.


	4. Grief felt

(^^^^^)

I wake up in a hospital room. I know this because it smells like bleach and old peaches, and the walls are a sickly green color. The floor is a gray that suggests it was once white tiles, and the blankets were full of starch, pressed flat against my stiff body. I can't move, and it sends panic through me. A nurse walks in, and calls out to the people outside. Her words slur together in my head until it doesn't even sound like speech. The morphling is reinserted into my system, and I am gone again. That's okay. That way it won't hurt when I try to scratch my leg. It's very itchy.

I wake up again, but I must have been here longer than I originally thought. There are bruises on my arms next to leather straps attached to the bed. At some point, I had to have been restrained. But why that would be necessary, I have no idea. My leg has a dull pain below the knee, but I can't feel anything below it.

A nurse enters, and I swallow nervously. I taste mint; someone has brushed my teeth while I was under.

"How are you feeling?" the nurse tentatively asks. I am suspicious at this point, but that is no reason to take it out on her.

"I'm feeling okay. When does the morphling stop affecting my leg?" I want to walk around, but if I can't feel it, I'll probably fall down and look like a fool.

"Um... that's what I came to tell you," her Capitol accent is starting to annoy me. It's so... cheery, like everything is sunshine and rainbows. "Sir, I must ask you to remain calm, but... you have a prosthetic leg now. It won't affect you that much, and if it ever gets damaged, you can bring it to us and we'll replace it for you."

"Won't affect me that much? Are you joking?" panic sweeps through me, and she shifts uncomfortably. "How does that help anything? The girl I love is dead, everyone is dead! I have a fake leg, and now I have no one to turn to! My mentor is a drunk, so he sure as shit won't help me!"

"Have a little faith, boy," Haymitch is here, the stench of his alcohol following close behind. "I'm here to take you to your prep team. Your final interview is tonight, and you look like shit."

"Oh thank you," I can't help but to resort to sarcasm. My usually bright demeanor is forever stained with the death of Katniss. How will the Capitol make it better? Calm words, prizes? That helps nothing.

The cold air of the hospital hits me as I leave the safety of my bed. My legs are sturdy, despite the lack of feeling in the left one. My right foot's toes curl instinctively, and the cold breeze attacks my flesh under the paper thin gown. But I hadn't really tested how balanced I am, so as I take my first step, I stumble, and pull out the IV stuck in my arm. A trickle of my blood runs down my arm, and I panic. My mind runs with images of Katniss dying, Cato choking on the garrote, my own damaged leg.

"No!" I gasp for air, but it seems as if my airways are blocked. "Get me out of here!"

The nurse scrambles and bandages the arm, and Haymitch drags me to the elevator. It doesn't have the glass walls, but I don't want everyone to see my bare legs anyway. I fight to breathe, and in the small space, I manage to.

"Are you alright?" Haymitch managed to ask. "Gave us a scare."

"I don't think I can do this without her, Haymitch. I can't do this without Katniss." I lean against the cold metal wall of the elevator as it descends. Is everything in this hospital cold?

"Have some faith, Peeta. You can do this. You've made it past the hard part." Haymitch sighs and pats my back. He knows as well as I do that the battle is just the beginning of the hard part. Seeing all the deaths and looking like you're enjoying the show, getting past the final interview, the victory tour. Those are the real hard parts. Dying would have been easier.


	5. Apathy given

(^^^^^)

My prep team congratulates me as we walk in the door. I feel sick to my stomach as they apply makeup to every part of my face, neck and hands. They tell me how amazed they were with my performance, and all the things they were doing while I was in the arena. Superficial things, like how they had a new wax treatment, or how they got new friends at a party they held, how they ran out of seafood at a family dinner. Things I couldn't give a damn about if I tried really hard.

I am relieved when Portia walks in and shoos them out. Cinna is close behind. I know that Cinna was Katniss' canvass, but I also know that they were very close in the couple of days that they had known each other. His gold eyeliner is only slightly smeared, but Portia notices. She walks over to him and wraps her arms around him briefly. It's enough to make him sniffle sadly. He looks at me, and tears are in his eyes.

"I'm sorry for your loss." he murmurs in his calm voice, and he leaves before I can return the sentiment.

"It's alright," Portia says as she hands me my suit. It has subtle hints of orange on the buttons on the cuff and along the lapel. She did this to comfort me. My favorite color is orange, and I mentioned this to her on my first day here. "He's just a little shaken. Now do you need to go over your interview, or do you think you have this together?"

"I think I'll just wing it." I admit. Flickerman and I have an easy air about us when we are both on stage.

The crowd is already tittering by the time I arrive behind the curtain. I'm certain that this will break me inside, but I can't let it show. The curtain opens, and the crowd becomes a dull roar. I step out onto the stage, where a love seat awaits. I sit the way I was told to, with my prosthetic leg crossed over my natural one at the knee. Caesar Flickerman emerges from the stage wings and sits in his cozy seat beside me. His smile is so bright and fake, it hurts. The powder blue of his suit contrasts with his deeply tanned leathery skin. No doubt it was manufactured through cosmetic surgery. After all, someone on my prep team had fins attached to the sides of her head.

"Peeta, it's good to see you," Caesar's Capitol accent makes it hard for me to take him seriously.

"It's good to see you too, Caesar." I lie. I don't want to see any of this. Ever.

"Well, I think you know what time it is." he turns to the crowd. "We see the highlights of this year's Hunger Games!"

The crowd roars, and I know that I will be defeated in these next five minutes. A screen pops up, and I see the bloodbath that started at the Cornucopia. I see Katniss dropping the Tracker Jackers on us, I see Rue's death with her flowery rest edited out. I see Katniss dying, and I start to taste salt on my lips. I see my mental transition from weak, pitiful Peeta, to crazed, bloodthirsty, vengeful Peeta. It scares me, but I put on a fake smile and look to the crowd. They approve of my reactions, and they cheer me on.

"Wow, that was emotional," Flickerman comments, leading up to his question. "How does it feel to have won the Games, but lost the Girl on Fire?"

I smile at him winningly. "It hurts, Caesar. It hurts like hell."


	6. Forgetfulness hated

(^^^^^)

The train ride home is quiet. I had asked Effie if I could just rest in my room by myself for a while, and she was kind enough to allow it, though she had scheduled an entire array of activities.

"We'll need to stop in District Four, though," she had led me to my room. "There is someone there that we need to pick up."

I have laid in this plush bed by myself for three hours, mulling over what she had said. Who could possibly be that important that they get to not only ride the train, but the Victor's train?

The station appear in the window, and the breaks squeal loudly. I cringe from the sound. I manage to gather enough interest to leave my room. The door nearest my room is open to the station, where Haymitch and Ellie are waiting. The air smells like salt and water and something else, something about the combination of the two that I have never had the pleasure of smelling before. I guess it would be the sand. After all, there are no beaches in District 12.

The figure that steps onto the train is small. She can't be more than five and a half feet tall. She would barely reach my shoulder on her tip toes. Her hair is long, reaching down her back and over her chest. It is a light brown, bleached by several hours in the sea and sun. And yet, her skin is very pale. Haymitch told me that they have something made here called 'sun screen' that they use to protect their skin, otherwise they get skin cancer or severe sunburns and die. I guess it's logical.

Her clothing, or lack thereof, strikes me as odd. She's wearing a red and white striped set of what looks like lingerie, a swimsuit, and a net tied over one hip, draping over the bikini. In her hand is a trident taller than she is, worn on the handle from use. Her aqua eyes are sad, as if she doesn't really want to leave, but she knows she has to. Long black lashes fan out above and below them, brushing the skin between her eyelids and cheeks. Her lips are red and swollen, as if she had just kissed someone goodbye that she had a romantic relationship with. Someone she won't ever see again. Like my and Katniss' last kiss.

That last thought hurts, but it's gone before I really get depressed. My curiosity is screwing with my grief! But curiosity soon gives way to apathy, and I don't bother to speak to this new girl.

"Dorsil," Ellie motions towards me. "This is Peeta."

I nod towards her, then turn and return to my room. She's interesting, but not interesting enough to bring me out of myself. The train starts going again, and I shut my door.

Fifteen minutes later, there is a knock at my door. I don't answer it, or even say that the door is open, but it opens anyway.

"Hey there," it's Haymitch, trying to be comforting. "You didn't talk to Dorsil. She's worried you don't like her."

"I don't know her. I don't want to know anyone right now. The one person I wanted to know is dead." my head hurts as I say it. Do I really mean that? Did I really love Katniss that much? The memories of her are becoming shiny, shimmery, almost unreal. Was that plaid dress she wore that first day blue or red? Did she sing the anthem or a different song? Which way was her braid that last day?

"She wants to know you. You're the only one she didn't make a coffin for." Haymitch sat on the edge of the bed.

"What?" there was something really strange about the way he said that.

"She built all the coffins for the fallen tributes. Dorsil likes to make sure that they don't go home in a pine box. She made one out of ebony for Katniss. Said it went well with her complexion."

"Don't- don't talk to me about her... her coffin. I'll see it when I get there." I tighten my fists until they hurt, and then some more.

"Alright. You eating in here by yourself tonight?"

"No. I'm not eating tonight. I just want to be alone, alright?" Haymitch must hear the note of desperation in my voice, because he nods lightly and leaves. Thank God.


End file.
